


The Mind Electric

by Nihiley_Face



Series: Scrapped [1]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Implications of Being the Devil, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Other, Past Child Abuse, Past Electroshock Therapy, Past/Failed Suicide Attempt, Religious Delusions, Self-Abuse??, Self-Harm, i might continue this, might rewrite this soon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 21:04:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13935378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nihiley_Face/pseuds/Nihiley_Face
Summary: When it grows bright the particles start to marvel, having made it through the night. Never they ponder whether electric, calming if you look at it right!





	The Mind Electric

**Author's Note:**

> Man, I've had to do some research for this just to make sure I got my facts right. I didn't want to write something about mental illness and not portray it correctly. 
> 
> Title taken from the song The Mind Electric by Tally Hall.

_He was so tired._

_The bags under his eyes were so heavy._

_He was only twelve years old, now. He didn't want this. It hurt._

_A needle was put in his arm and the IV introduced medicine into his body. His body must have liked the medicine because he suddenly felt relaxed._

_The nice nurses helped him lay on the chair has his consciousness began to fade. He made a last-ditch attempt to scratch at the weird stickers on his head, but his hands were kept away._

_He saw white._

_And then black._

_And white again._

_It flashed so much that his everything hurt. But at the same time, he was numb. He didn't understand what was going on. He's been thrown inside of a dryer or a blender. Maybe a combination of both. His mind felt like jelly._

_When he woke up, he was dizzy. He didn't know where exactly he was. He was gently put into a wheelchair and he was escorted outside. He felt sick. And tired. He just wanted to sleep. He didn't know what to do. Who were these people? Where was he? What was going on? Why did he hurt all over?_

_He was just a kid._

_That's what people said to him._

_They told him he was just a kid who needed help. He knew what help meant._

_It meant that scary chair and flashing lights and waking up sore and nauseous. He often wondered what he looked like when it was happening. Probably stupid._

_Sometimes, afterwards, he was put into a large white room by himself. There was a bed in the middle, with blankets and he was told to rest. There was a window high up with bars on it, too._

_Sometimes, he couldn't tell what was real or not._

_He'd be terrified by that thought and try to hide until the unrealness went away again. He just wanted things to make sense again. He wanted to see Lucy again._

_Lucy was good._

_Lucy was real._

_Right?_

_Sometimes, he wasn't quite sure._

_Food for thought? Bullshit. Food for derealization at two in the morning._

_A life so hard, just to end like this._

_He stood on the bed._

_He was chronically ill as a child._

_He tied the bedsheet to the barred window._

_Then his father was shot, killed, and blood choked him, almost to death._

_He'd tied the noose, putting it around his neck._

_Then, he was the devil._

_He jumped._

_His throat was closed by his weight and he hit his head on the soft wall of the solitary room._

_He was the devil._

_Pain purged sin, right?_

_With everything he's gone through, the Lord was sure to forgive him, right?_

_He could go to Heaven and not be punished, right?_

_He's had enough, right?_

_It was over, now, right?_

_Right?_

_He couldn't breathe, and his body nearly convulsed. Tears made themselves known by stinging his eyes like tiny bug bites and his lungs burned._

_He wanted to breathe, but he wanted to die._

_Soon enough, his vision got spotty and his head felt lighter. His hands clawed at the sheet on his neck and he choked on his own doing. Tears ran down in a race down his cheeks as he tried to save himself, while at the same time, he tried to die._

_He heard the door open just before everything went black._

* * *

Tom woke up in his bed, panting and sweating. His eyes were wide, his mouth agape.

He had that dream again.

The first time he'd tried to kill himself.

For him, the words 'first time' ahd a different meaning. He'd always asscociated it with the first time he'd tried to kill himself, when he was twelve.  
He had the sudden urge to lock himself in the closet and pray.

He didn't know where he was, but he knew one thing:  
He was the devil, and pain purged sin.

He swung his legs over the edge of his bed. He read the clock. Four fourty-five am. Man, it was early. No matter. He had to be punished.

He couldn't find a belt, but he did find several rubber-bands, and those could work just as fine if he tried hard enough.

He opened the closet door and held a bible in his hands, along with a crucifix. He sat down on the floor, near the door. He shut the door from the ground and leaned his back against the wall.

He'd began with John, 3:8.

"The one who does what is sinful is of the devil, because the devil has been sinning from the beginning. The reason the Son of God appeared was to destroy the devil’s work."

He'd repeated it a couple of times, all while pulling back the rubber of the band and hearing it whip against his skin and sting.

"Pain purges sin," He told himself aloud. "Pain purges sin..."

"You belong to your father, the devil, and you want to carry out your father’s desires. He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies."

He whipped the band again. Sting.

Whip. Sting.

Whip. Sting.

Whip. Sting.

He heard voices outside of the closet, but he didn't stop.

"Pain purges sin," He said as the bands began to break his skin and he started to bleed little red snakes on his wrists.

"Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you."

He might have heard the door open, but he didn't stop. There were sounds he couldn't hear and faces he couldn't bear to look at out of fear and shame.

It's like he's fallen inside a hole he couldn't see.

Hands took hold of him, and he began to panic.

"No!" He cried. He didn't know what to say next to convince his captors to let him free, so he only said that word over and over again.

"You're sick!" A voice yelled.

Tom knew what that meant.

It meant the weird chair that held him down and then the flashes of white and black over and over until his body hurt all over and he couldn't walk.

They wanted to scorch his chambers.

He might've heard crying, and it might've been him, but he wasn't too sure. He was sick, after all. He couldn't tell what was real anymore. He could be laying in bed, hallucinating this.

He could be laying somewhere, dead, whilst his mind deteriorated by itself, simply making up what it thought that his life might have been like had he still been alive.

It was so fucking scary.

He finally fell limp in the strong arms of someone he might have known, and cried. He didn't know what to do anymore. He didn't know who he was. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know why it hurt so much.

But he knew he was going to get that help.

And it was going to be painful.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to request something or add some suggestions let me know in the comments below, or at my Tumblr, @ daddy-issues-anon.tumblr.com


End file.
